


Plo's Boys

by BD1996



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Plo Koon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BD1996/pseuds/BD1996
Summary: After he retires, Plo Koon decides to visit his boys.
Relationships: Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon & Clone Troopers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: Open Source Soft Wars





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
Plo Koon woke with a familiar empty feeling in his chest.. Not a terrible feeling, in fact, one of relief, though empty nonetheless.  
He had been so used to feeling his sons all around him, their physical presence, their thoughts and emotions good and bad and other. Now, the aging Kel Dor was met with a silence that felt hollow and strange. But, knowing his sons were at peace and no longer permeating the air with fear and grief… that lent the emptiness a comforting glow at the edge of the force.  
Those left in the sadly decimated Temple were too good and shielding themselves. The peace felt disconcerting after his experiences.  
Grumbling softly, Plo sat up on his bed, much too soft after his rock-like Republic bunk or a warship bulkhead beneath a kicking and snoring pile of his sons.  
He felt too cold, as well, even with the thick but misfitted socks Boost had made for him. Maybe it was not only a physical cold, though he knew age had a way of robbing ones warmth, human or kel dor.  
No point pondering that, old man.  
Plo stood and stretched, admitting his back was far less limber than it had been before the War. He’d never admit it to Wollfe, the mother tooka, or would certainly never hear the end of it.  
Boost’s socks slid into Comets first attempt at lovely taun-taun wool slippers. They were mishapen and rough, a hole wearing in one clawed toe, and Plo cherished them. A thick robe, one of Kenobi’s winter sets he lost so frequently, went around his stooped shoulders. Slouched, he insisted, the natural, calm position of his species’ posture, he assured everyone. Still, the warm cloak did help ease some of his chilly aches and for that he was grateful of Obi Wan’s bad habit of shedding cloaks left and right. He set about with his morning rituals, now ready as he would be.  
When he had first returned to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Wollfe had insisted on staying at his side. Wether penance or reassurance, Plo did not know. But it had been quite impossible to shake his eldest son from his side, the poor boy sleeping slouched on the floor next to Plo’s bed, as if he couldn’t believe his buir was still alive without hearing the quiet hiss of his oxygen blocking mask.  
Finally, he had convinced his dear son that staying in Plo’s room was only hurting his back, Plo never willing to admit wearing his mask around his sons caused him considerable discomfort with prolonged use. Nevermind that eating felt half like choking and he could only enjoy Wollfe’s tea through his ‘emergency induction port’.  
Wollfe had finally been satisfied when Plo promised to keep his comlink, Wollfe as his first contact, directly beside his bed. Plo wondered if the fact that his former commander was the first holo photo on his wall had helped convince Wollfe that his buir was going nowhere without him.  
Said wall of holos sat above Plo’s spartan desk, the only real furnishings to the dorm room being a small chiller and the tea kettle upon the desk and a worn, salvaged couch taking up the opposite wall to his bed. Wollfe had been the one to secure that, most likely bribing Fox with off world sweets to get first pick of the Senate’s wasted furnishings.  
Ever resourceful, his boys.  
The little room held all Plo needed, and he was content with it.  
Though there was now a tragic abundance of suite rooms in the Temple, Plo still refused his old quarters. After seeing the exhaustion of the healers and later the clone surgical staff, Plo had insisted his previous quarters be converted into a resting area for the nearby Hall of Healing. This little dormitory room was enough.   
Plo sat, as he did most morning, at the desk as his kettle sputtered to life. It took a few moments longer in the non-oxygen environment but Plo found it worth the wait. This ritual delay gave him time as always to admire the multitude of photos he had acquired in such a short time both during and after the dreadful War. As always, seeing so many of his sons, too many now marching far away, left him feeling conflicted between bitterness and joy. Bitterness that his sons and his fellow Jedi had been duped into pointless conflict, yet joy that he had been given any time at all with his Legion.  
Plo allowed himself to feel this strange emotion for several minutes, a tribute, before releasing it into the Force. That night, he would say Remembrance as his sons did, but the morning was time for the living.  
Near to one side of the desk, he spied Boost and Sinker, perched upon a railing overlooking a glistening beach, beaming smiles like the suns overhead at the camera. Both were dressed in swimming trunks and bare chested, arms around one another. Behind them, Plo spied Wollfe dourly hunched beneath a beach umbrella. So, they had finally dragged his eldest to that artificial beach in the Mid Levels afterall. Comet had been trying to convince his ori’vod for what seemed like weeks. Plo couldn’t help chuckling, clawed finger drawing gently across the flickering holo, seeing Wollfe pretending not to notice the pair of Littles sprawled across his lap. Between the blue of the holo and the red tint of his special atmosphere, he could just almost miss Wolfe’s blush   
The howl of the kettle brought Plo out of his happy trance and back to the future. As he sipped his morning brew, he flicked open his planning ‘pad and scanned his schedule.  
Which of my boys shall I visit today?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for formatting, still figuring that out. Please let me know what you think! Good bad and in between!

Chapter 2  
As the Force would have it, Plo’s decision was made for him, as Comet and Boost practically plowed into him as he made his way serenly down the Temple’s mammoth front steps. Well, more accurately, Comet came streaking forward like his namesake, arms flinging around his middle and driving the air out of him as he rushed to stabilize himself and his son.  
“Well, hello there, Comet’ka,” Plo greeted, his ever-present fond smile behind his mask. The youngest of the original Wolfpack, his bright Comet, practically nuzzled under Plo’s chin as he squeezed him tight. His boy had gotten slimmer, even than his rangy Scout build had been before. Comet, Plo decided, would need to be reminded to eat more often.  
Pushing him to arms length, Plo looked down on the shorter boy, eyes taking him in. Complimenting his youthful face, Comet had now died his hair a vibrant, eye-grabbing pink, the side buzzed short and slicked back, the top left to plume like a bird of prey. His Wolfpack tattoo poked above the collar of his aggressively multi-colored shirt beneath a cut-off jacket bearing so many patches Plo could never hope to remember them all.  
“You’re looking well, Ad’ika!” Plo said seriously, deepening his voice and inclining his head. “But you haven’t been eating enough, have you?”  
Comet looked properly sheepish, looking away and rubbing his neck ruefully. He  
Seemed surprised when Plo patted both his shoulders and declared, “we shall just have to fix that, won’t we!”  
Turning his attention to the Vode trailing his way up the stairs, Plo was pleased to see Boost had stayed in fighting trim. If anything, he had bulked up his arms and chest slightly, likely doing more of the heavy lifting on the salvage crews than his younger brother.  
Boost also had maintained his wartime haircut, likely for the routine keeping two   
strips of dyed red hair entailed. One night, biouvacked on some misty moon, over stale GAR-issue caf, Boost had revealed to his general that the routine helped him calm his nerves. Plo would never admit that he thought it was a touch ridiculous, just as Luminara thought of her Gree.  
Dressed much less gregariously than his vod’ika, Boost had his hands tucked into black cargo pants, an open black jacket bearing the Technora logo and concealing the blaster he had in a shoulder rig. The salvage company had been more than willing to hire up as many EVA-trained and eager to work clones as they could after the War. They also didn’t complain or comment if their new workforce was more protective of the scrap than the average battlefield scroungers. Theft and claim squabbles had been down drastically.  
“Morning, buir,” Boost greeted calmly, waving one hand in a short, choppy salute. He had always been the informal one, his Boost.  
“Good morning, Boost,” Plo replied. “Or should I call you ‘salvage team leader’ now?”  
Boost froze in his boots, looking away as his cheeks went a few shades shy of his hair. “Well… you heard about that? There goes my surprise.”  
Plo chuckled and took a step down to pat his other son on the shoulder. “Do you really expect an old man like me not to keep up with his boys? I have nothing better to do, after all.”  
“Ah, yeah, I suppose,” Boost muttered.  
Together, the three made their way down the remaining flights of stairs and onto a mostly calm walkway. Both Vode took one of Plo’s sides, not walking behind like they would have before, but abreast of their buir. Plo quietly beamed to himself.  
“About that, sir… I mean buir,” Boost sputtered. Plo waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “How is that…. Er… retirement thing going for you?”  
Plo inhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts.  
“It is an adjustment, my sons. But a welcome one. I fear I am far too old to be galavanting around the universe anymore swinging a sword like some fairytale hero.” Plo chuckled at the boys’ indignant squeaks on his behalf. Holding up his clawed hands, the former general and Jedi council member received quiet to explain. “In seriousness, I can scarcely understand how Kenobi and Windu stand to remain on the council after all our order has been through in the last few years… it simply felt wrong for me to remain on that body after we had been so easily duped by that firefek sith.”  
The aging Kel Dor sighed heavily, the half-bitterness from earlier returning again. How could they have been so blind? How could the supposedly wisest jedi in the galaxy be so easily fooled? As one hailed as among the wisest, he felt this burden heavily on his shoulders.  
“This… gives me time to be with my sons. Those souls that are the most important to me.” He put one arm over each boy and squeezed, ignoring Boost’s feigned indignation. “And while we are catching up, how is Technora treating you?”  
Boost grunted noncommittal. “Its… good, buir. They have us mostly working low orbit on the Seppie fleet, anything that got too close for comfort for the atmo control guys.  
Plo nodded. “I’ve heard it’s still quite bright in low orbit, almost like it’s not space at all.”  
His boys nodded, somber.  
Plo squeezed their shoulders.  
Together, they kept walking down the walk as it slowly spiralled around a gaping cityscape canyon, taking them down towards the still-sunny midlevels. A companionable silence fell, though Plo could see the boys trying to communicate with their eyes and choppy signals, as if making up for their lack of helmet comms.  
Plo let them have their privacy.  
Beneath the peaks of Coruscant, there was far less speeders criss crossing around them and the morning was still young enough to mean the walkway wasn’t terribly crowded. Still, Plo felt Boos sink closer to his side, eyes roving over everyone around them, a slight twitch in his fist.  
Meanwhile, Comet openly clung to Plo’s arm and the kel dor couldn’t even pretend to mind.  
“Buir,” Boost said quietly.  
As he spoke, he’d stopped walking, one hand resting on the railing as his eyes trailed over the canyon and tracking a few speeders stopping nearby.  
“Yes, son?”  
“Is....” Boost paused, tightening his hold on the railing. A cool Coruscant morning breeze ruffled his pants and Plo did not miss the outlines of his two boot knives. Boost tipped his head forward, then caught sight of Comet’s gentle thumbs up, an encouraging glint in his eyes. “Is it wrong to feel… out of time?”  
“How so, my son? Your rapid aging has been cured… if anything you boys will live long beyond me!”  
That joke didn’t have the desired effect and Boost turned a frustrated glare at his buir. “Not like that, buir… I… I feel like the war ended and nobody seems to notice.” He gave a vague, but sharp flap of his hands at the Coruscant skyline. “It’s like it never even happened here? It is wrong to want… I don’t know, something?”  
“Not at all, son,” Plo comforted. A clawed hand once again rested on Boost’s shoulder but he didn’t turn the boy to face him or pull him into a tight grip like he so desperately wanted to. Boost hated confined spaces, ever since the pod. “You wish someone to admit that your strife meant something, had an impact, yes?”  
Boost nodded.  
“That is beyond understandable, my boy, one I am very much familiar with.”  
Now Boost and Comet stared with confusion at their father, trying to parse his meaning.  
“It is natural, we Jedi believe, to feel out of place when ones purpose seems to shift. To the outside world, nothing has changed, but ones own world has irreversibly changed. It is something, we try to teach our young to understand, when they ask how their parents lives were changed by them becoming Jedi. Now that we have, adjusted certain beliefs, I hope this will become less important.”  
Plo turned to face them dead on. “But, this lesson may help you, my sons. At times like this, it is impossible to move on when you sit yourself like a stone in a river. Let the force carry you, and you will see how the current moves you.”  
The boys nodded and he thought his explanaition helped at least a little.  
But it also lit a fire. If these two felt this way, there were many more sons he needed to teach.   
Newly invigorated, Plo no longer felt that strange emptiness. Purpose, yes, this felt like purpose


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinker needs a little reminder

Chapter 3  
The father-son trio found their fourth member in a nearby mid-level park. Here, under a concrete sky with a fake rolling sunny day, Sinker was fond of sitting next to a large artificial, as all things were on Coruscant, pond, casting a line into the deep blue waters.  
Wether or not fishing was allowed in this spot, Plo could generally find him here in his free time. As he was today, there was usually an herbal smoke stick in his mouth and a bottle of his favorite root beer beside him. A non-alcoholic version of the sweet Mandalorian Ne’tra gal, the famous Dexter was helping to distribute the brew now that the Vode were able to bring their recipes out of secret bulkhead stills into mainstream success.  
Upon seeing Sinker, Comet rushed from Plo’s side and practically sprinted towards his brother. Perched on a high brick retaining wall, Sinker didn’t even look down to ruffle his vod’ika’s pink plumage.  
“They should really have called you Bobber!” Comet jabbed as he so often did.  
“They should have named you Nuisance,” Sinker bit back, flicking his smoke stick into the gravel at his feet. He knew poor Comet hated the smell.  
“And how do you like calling Monk daily for study tips?” Boost had to add. Helpfully, he picked up sinkers discarded smoke and tossed it in the proper trash can where an Ibis would hopefully choke on it.  
Plo was not fond of birds.  
“Yes, I’d wondered that too, son.”  
Sinker lived up to his name, head sinking to shoulders in embarrassment. “Please shut up, buir.” He whined.   
Just chuckling, Plo plopped himself up on the wall beside his son. His others, reading the mood or simply bored, wandered off. Just good boys.  
“How is college treating you? Monk isn’t going to let you view classes for free forever.” Monk, thanks to his CC training and experience with PLO’s good but often underdressed friend Kit, had been granted a TA position in addition to starting school at a higher level.  
“It’s…. Difficult.”  
“And are you sure this is what you want to do?”  
“What do you mean, buir? What else would I do?” He looked mournfully to where Comet was now splashing ankle deep in the pond, Boost trailing behind with his shoes. “It’s not like I can go up with them.”  
“Whatever you’d like, my boy. College and salvage work are far from the only options.” Plo felt an unsettling twitch in his heart, wondering how deep his son’s worries were seated. It seemed he believed he could only do what he had seen his brothers do. That was unsettlingly like his old belief that they were no better than replaceable droids.  
Plo carefully set his bony arm around Sinker and tugged him just a slight bit into his side. Sinker grunted, took one last sip of his root beer then made to toss it into the sand.  
“I know you’re not about to litter, my son.”  
Huffing again, Sinker tossed his bottle to a nearby trashcan.  
“How many fish species are there in the galaxy, son?”  
“In the Galaxy?” Sinker pursed his brows. “Too many to count.”  
“And that’s how many paths there are available to you now, son. You could live perfectly simple but happy off your pension, sitting right here fishing. Or you could travel to any number of colony planets, fisherman are valued members of those communities.”  
Plo lightly dragged his clawed fingers up Sinker’s arm in a soothing pattern. “But I know there is something else bothering you, what is their name?”  
That hit the nail on the head, didn’t it.  
Sinker went bright pink and ducked his head into Plo’s robes. Muttering something, he looked anywhere but at his buir but didn’t pull away.  
Having to chuckle at the childish response, Plo continued his gentle pattern on his son’s arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that, Sinker’ka.” To say only the Vode were sarcastic friends and family was a ridiculous notion. Even a Jedi had to indulge in some teasing now and then.  
“Sable… she’s a Mon Calamri.”  
“Adorable,” Plo nuzzled into his son’s hair, nearly catching with his breath mask. He didn’t fail to miss the way his son stiffened at her mention though. Plo gave him the space to expand if he felt like it.  
“She’s…. Blind.”  
“So she does not know you are a clone?”  
“No, buir.”  
Ah, there was the heart of the matter.   
“My son, you should remember I’m not the only one that sees you as individuals.” Plo tipped sinkers chin up gently. “Believe in yourself son… and I expect you to bring this captivating miss Sable around for dinner soon!”  
“Buir!”


End file.
